Date: Sun, 18 Nov 2007 11:23:56 +0000 (GMT)
From: Kyron Cameron
Subject: Indonesian Travels / The_Village
Indonesian Travels
The Village
by James MacMannis
* * * * Warning * * * *
If you are under the age of 18 or if it is illegal to read stories of a
homosexual nature
where you live please do not read further.
This is a fictional story, based on my life experiences.
This is part of a series of stories about my travels in Indonesia.
I hope you enjoy the journey.
Copyright by James MacMannis.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
---------------------------------------------------------------------
*** NOTE FROM Kyron C MacMannis ***
On Wednesday 7th March 2007 at around 7 am a Garuda Airlines Boeing
737-400, flight GA200, jet burst into flames when it overshot the
runway on landing at Yogyakarta Airport in Indonesia on a routine 440
kilometre flight from Jakarta. There were 133 passengers and 7 crew on
that plane, 22 were reportedly killed in the crash, later revised to
21, and another 91 were hospitalised with severe burns, many
subsequently evacuated to Australia for intensive care.
James MacMannis was one of those killed.
Apparently the aircraft was swaying as it approached the airport and
many passengers reported that it was travelling too fast for a normal
landing. Passengers had been warned the flight would be turbulent.
Survivors said the plane was slammed to the ground and skidded forward
and slammed once again before it ploughed across the end of the runway,
across a road, hit a bank and a culvert and went into a paddy field.
When it hit the bank and the culvert, it exploded.
The plane was manufactured in 1992, had its last major inspection just
a month before the accident and had logged 34,960 flight hours.
The inquest into the aircraft accident in Yogyakarta was held in
October 2007 and, among other things, it was discovered that the pilot,
Marwoto Komar, and his co-pilot Gagam Rachman, had ignored more than 15
major alarms about his approach speed and the landing in general.
Yet he went ahead and landed the aircraft. The result was a disaster.
We three have lost a father, friend and the greatest man you could ever
know.
A number of readers of the original postscipt (above) went to the
trouble of trying to identify James from the passenger manifests of
Flight GA200. There were five Australians reported to have been
killed, James was not among them. They were Australian Financial
Review journalist Morgan Mellish, Federal police agents Brice Steel and
Mark Scott, AusAid employee Allison Sudradjat and Jakarta embassy
spokeswoman Liz O'Neill.
James had for many years worked with the Indonesian government on
sensitive and difficult tasks, earning for himself the right to carry
an Indonesian passport. That is the reason why he did not show up as
an Australian or foreign citizen, but instead is listed among the 16
(originally there were 22 deaths attributed to the crash but that
number was later revised to 21) other passengers. I am not at liberty
to tell you the name on his passsport.
We brought James back to Perth, Western Australia, with some of his
senior staff. The funeral was held in his home church with hundreds of
his close friends in attendance. My brothers and I became the
successors to his business interests and we have been well occupied
learning how to deal with the complexities of his enterprises.
James left a lot of notes on his writing because his intention had
always been to complete the stories he started. I will try to put his
notes together in a contiguious form, but I am not an eloquent writer
as he was and I doubt I could convey the emotion he was able to.
He had not completed this particular story and I cannot do so for him
because I was not there. However what is presented here will probably
give you an idea of how this story would have continued.
I was in Indonesia for the inquest and, while I was there, landed also
at the same airport where James died. It was an eerie experience
inasmuch as I did not feel great sorrow or despair, simply the loss of
a great man. He lives on in my brothers and I and the many friends and
workmates he fostered in one way or another during his life.
You may like to read other stories by James MacMannis and view
photographs and other material he collected. I have re-constructed the
Yahoo Group with whatever I can find and you will find it at this
address:
http://asia.groups.yahoo.com/group/aborigindonesian/
Should you wish to contact me or my brothers, please do so on my email:
kyroncameron (at) yahoo (dot) com
Love to you all
Kyron C MacMannis (Nick)
and on behalf of my brothers Connie and Chris.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
I want to thank the many who have written in response to my first two
stories. One comment that has been
raised a number of time is in
relation to circumcision among Moslems. I hope that parts of this
story will enlighten the reader and answer the questions.
The story recommences from The Bank.
The telephone interrupted us; it was reception advising that a Mister
Abdul was waiting to see me. I remembered that I had asked the bank
guard around, and guessed it was he, so I raced downstairs to meet
him.
It was the bank guard, but he, too, was in comfortable clothing rather
than his uniform, and I had trouble recognising him as the same person.
We shook hands and he told me his name was Abdul Wahabin. Showing him
the way, I led him up to our room. Introductions were made to the boys
who were sitting out on the shady balcony smoking. I asked Abdul what
he would like to drink and got beer for him and myself
and cokes for
the two boys. He offered me a smoke as we sat down with the boys on
the balcony.
The humid evening was gathering its dark folds around us as we got to
know each other a little better. Abdul, it turned out, was originally
from Surabaya and had been in Samarinda for only 6 months. The bank
had transferred him here on the retirement of an older guard. He had
not enjoyed his time in Samarinda because he had few friends and had
found life in a back-water somewhat different to the bustle of his home
town. The opportunity to meet us was a welcome break in his otherwise
tedious existence here.
We walked down town to find a warung (caf) for the evening meal.
Samarinda has a lot of eating places in the streets that run back from
the riverbank, and it was not long before we found something suitable.
Abdul had already drunk two or three beers from my minibar before we
left the hotel, and as soon as we arrived at the warung he ordered
more. The boys decided to have beer as well. By time our meal was
ready we were all comfortably mellowed by the cool ale, more so the
boys who were not accustomed to drinking
alcoholic drinks.
It was late when we left the warung and staggered back towards the
hotel. Abdul left us along the way to go to his place, leaving the
three of us to negotiate the remaining few metres to our hotel. The
cool air conditioning was a shock after the oppressive heat outdoors,
and we quickly scrubbed out feet, stripped off and headed straight to
bed. Adi and Put hugged me as we fell into a deep sleep.
Once again the early morning prayer call woke us. The boys were
feeling heavy from the drinking session last night and did not want to
get up. The need to piss was the only thing they moved for and, when
finished, climbed back into bed. I did the same thing.
An hour later I stirred when I felt a stiff penis grinding slowly into
my leg. Adi was feeling back in form, and his gyrations brought me
quickly to life. His hand sought out my dick and he began to
masturbate me to the same rhythm as his own humping. Put stirred on
the other side and rolled over to hug me as he awoke. He, too, was
rock hard and, feeling the movement on Adi's side of the bed, joined in
the sensuous assault of my leg. I held on to both boys as they shared
their love with me.
Neither Adi nor Put were embarrassed or reluctant to demonstrate their
sex in front of each other or to share it with me. I recalled Adi
saying that he had slept with his cousins since they were all very
young, so I guessed that included all the normal inquisitiveness boys
have with each other. As they would have gown to puberty and beyond,
the already familiar relationship would have deepened with the
flowering of
sexuality. These boys had nothing but openness in their
relationship and I felt deeply touched to share it with them.
My musings were interrupted by Adi gasping as his orgasm hit. I felt
it, too, because he was still pumping me at the same pace as his
increased tempo. I erupted with him, sending Put over the edge of his
sexual plateau. I could feel the juices of the boys spraying on my
legs and my own juices squirting on my bare stomach. If heaven were
like this, I could very much enjoy it.
Coffee, smokes, showers and breakfast behind us, we were back at the
bank before opening time. Abdul waved from his guard post as we went
in with the Manager and on up to the computer room. I had just a few
more components to change out before the boys would be free to go about
their business for the day. They had planned to go back to the village
once my work with them was done. When the time came, to his great
surprise I paid Put a full tradesmans wage for his work. As generous
as it may seem, he had done a sterling job and I would have been at a
loss to complete the job if it were not for him.
The boys left me to continue fine tuning the system and bring the
network fully back to functionality. All the ATM links were repaired
by midday and by 1500 I felt that the job was complete. The Manager
checked everything was to his satisfaction and I put the left over and
replacement components and spares away in the computer room.
I had already found a local electrician who ran a new GPO to the
tearoom and a plasterer who made good the hole in the wall. I hoped
this would stop anyone from trying to unplug the surge protectors
again. Final checks done, I headed down to the guard room and said
goodbye to Abdul, then picked up my tools and headed back to the hotel.
Adi was not back, so I rang Surabaya to see if any other jobs were
waiting for me. Just at that time there were none, so I said I would
get back there as soon as I could arrange transport.
I was weary from the long days and nights, so I decided to strip off
and have a catch up sleep till Adi returned. When I awoke it was
already very dark outside and my clock showed the time to be 2000.
Suddenly I remembered that I was waiting for Adi and he hadn't shown
up. I hoped he was ok.
A cool shower freshened me up no end and I dressed ready to go
downstairs for dinner. I was eating when Adi drove in. He apologised
for being late, but said he had stopped to help his uncle at the farm
and the time got away from him. He had already eaten with his family,
but he happily joined me for a coffee.
We went up to the room and took Cokes out to the balcony to sit and
smoke. Tonight was not anywhere as oppressive as the night before had
been, so it was pleasant to catch a gentle breeze. We had stripped to
trousers to
maximise the coolness. I explained that my work was now
finished. Adi asked me if I had to rush back to Surabaya or would it
be possible to go out to his village for a night before I left. I
wanted to see the place where Adi came from, and to meet his uncle and
other cousin, so I agreed we would go out there in the morning.
Adi was excited about being able to show me off to his family and also
to show me his home. "It is very rough compared to this, and I hope it
will not be any problem for you," he explained. I told Adi some of my
childhood experiences from the Australian bush and how that for some
time my parents could not have a nice home, so it was not a problem for
me to adapt to different surroundings.
Putting his Coke down, Adi stood and butted out his cigarette then came
over to my seat and stood in front of me. He knelt down with his head
between my legs and gently sucked at my soft penis through the fabric.
"Can I try to take you in my mouth, James? Please show me how to do
that." He unzipped my jeans and my now hard dick sprung out into the
evening air, responding eagerly to Adi's ministrations. I talked Adi
through a few simple techniques so he would not gag too much, but found
that he was quite capable of his own methods. Adi's tongue flicked
around the inside of my foreskin, sending electric shocks through my
system each time he ran over the sensitive parts.
Easing himself down the length of my rod, Adi soon had my pubic hairs
in his nose as he sucked me in to him. He could not take the whole
length, and I was not going to force myself in to his throat, but the
sensations he was giving me were delightful even so. So slowly and
softly Adi work away at my needy tool, bringing me to the edge several
time, but always stopping before I could topple into the depths of
gushing orgasm. It was as though he wanted to make me remember this
night more than any other. I could not read his mind, not could I
understand fully his motivation, but he was giving to me of his heart
and mine responded in unison.
There came a time when no matter what Adi did or didn't
do, I had to
let out my pent up and agitated juices. Adi did not stop sucking till
I was dry. I gave him the biggest load I can ever remember producing,
and he greedily drank it all in. Still he nursed my steely member, and
still I was throbbing with the joyful pain of orgasm. For the first
and only time in my life I could feel the juices boiling again, and it
was only a few minutes before Adi took in a second, although somewhat
diminished, load of my sperm.
Adi released me and I sagged back in the chair. Adi had somehow
removed his jeans and he turned and sat naked on my lap, his still
unreleased tool waving attention to itself. Our balcony was quite
secluded unless we happened to be at the front railing, so it was not a
problem for us to be naked there. I went to grab Adi's tool, but he
restrained
me. "Let me just sit here and do it myself, please James.
I need to be very close to you tonight." He grabbed his throbbing pole
and began long-stroking, his firm grip obvious by his whitened
knuckles. I loved to watch as his foreskin slid up and down, never
fully uncovering the thick head of his penis. I could feel his
clenching bottom muscles as his climax built, and he leaned back into
my chest as he finaly
let go of a stream of white liquid. There are
times when an orgasm transcends the usual experience, and this was one
of those time for Adi and it had been for me. He just poured our his
nectar in ropes, splattering all over his chest and on to mine. On and
on it came ^ I could not count the number of times he shot out his load
^ and all the time I held his spasming body close to mine. Finally he
was spent and he relaxed in my arms.
We sat together for a long time, fully enjoying the closeness of each
other, the coolness of the soft breeze, and the rememberance of the
experience we had shares so recently. Adi stirred enough to reach his
cigarettes and he lit one, passing it to me. Lighting another for
himself, we sat in this closest of embraces and smoked contentedly.
Leaving the tight cluster of Samarinda, we headed out of town across
the huge bridge over the bustling ships and eddying current of the
mighty Mahakam River. On the southern side we turned westwards on the
road marked to Tenggarong. The cluttered roads soon gave way to a less
busy stretch of dense jungle, punctuated occasionally by wayside stall.
Always the breadth and power of one of the world's
greatest rivers made
it's presence felts somewhere off to our right, often seen, often
heard, sometimes invisible, but nonetheless always there.
After a while the road turned northwards and it was not long before the
gigantic frame of a huge suspension bridge poked through the foliage
and soared across the river. We had arrived at Tenggarong. Once a
kingly city, now a modest town, I was intrigued by the wooden walkways
between shops and houses along the riverbank. Adi stopped at one of
the warungs and we made our way into the establishment after navigating
the rather dodgy footpath strung over the surging river. The Mahkam is
wide at Tenggarong, but no less overwhelming in the sheer volume of
water passing along it. In the deeper parts of the river trees and
debris competed with boats and barges. Here along the edge, where the
warung was located under shady trees,
it was not fierce, but gave the
impression of a gentle giant flexing its significant muscles.
We drank strong local coffee and ate some sticky cakes that resembled
lamingtons with molasses poured over, followed by the local delicacy,
udang galah, a gigantic fresh water prawn. More coffe and cigarettes
completed the meal. Refreshed by the food and the short break from
driving, Adi took to the road again, heading back the way we had
already come to enter the onramp for the massive bridge. The view from
this bridge was amazing ^ the river appearing sluggish as we drove over
it at a great height, the jungle never ending except for clearings
where a sawmill or other factory had been pushed into its bulk.
Descending into the humid forest again, we slid along a muddy track for
a short time until we came to a stop in a cleared area at the middle of
a small village.
Dinner was an impromptu event in the village. I was treated as an
honoured guest, although, in fact, it was I who had been honoured by
being allowed to come to this jungle paradise. The village was set on
a plateau or headland, almost like a promontory jutting out into the
small river flowing around three sides of the village many metres
below. The village area was dry and dusty, small gibber rocks and an
accumulation of other debris was scattered on the ground. Someone said
a few words that I could not grasp and Adi darted out the doorway of
the hut we were accommodated in. I looked out and saw him darting here
and there between the other huts, his bare feet not registering either
the late heat of the ground or the sharp rocks and pointy stones as he
ran. It dawned on me that he was
chasing a chicken, which he
eventually cornered and caught, and that the chicken was going to be a
major ingredient in our evening meal.
Later, after having enjoyed the marvellous roasted meat and platters of
local fresh vegetables, some steamed and others boiled, we sat back
with the men to enjoy the cool evening breeze. Coffee and sweet cakes
accompanied the strong black tobacco that was offered, and we chatted
and smoked for some time. Eventually Adi called a halt to the
discussion, realising that it had been a long day with no opportunity
to rest and that we would need to be refreshed for the coming day of
celebration and festivity.
At the back of the house stood a small woven enclosure and Adi led me
to this place for a mandi (shower) before we would retire for the
night. I had not realised that water was already collected for us to
use, meaning
that someone had carried several plastic jerry cans from
the river up to the hut for our use. Adi undressed me and himself and
then poured cool water into a smaller container which he then tipped
over us. We soaped up and then rinsed the lather off, leaving us both
feeling fresh and free from the dust and sweat of the day. Both of us
were erect, but Adi whispered to me that too many other people would
see us if we did anything in this exposed place, so we dried off and
wrapped towels around us to go back into the hut.
Adi took my towel and his and hung them to air for the night and held
back the folds of a copious mosquito net for me to climb into bed. The
bed was hard ^ probably a kapok mattress on wood planking ^ but roomy
and comfortable. Blowing out the oil lamp, the room plunged into an
oily darkness and Adi crept into the bed beside me. Encircling me with
his strong arms, he held me tightly in a loving embrace, punctuated by
the thrusting of his stiff member as it tried to find a comfortable
part of me to lie against. His mouth found mine and we kissed deeply
and longingly. My penis was achingly needing release and I pushed into
Adi's hand when he reached down to hold me there. My precum quickly
lubricated his hand and I could slide into his grip easily.
At the same time,
Adi was moving faster in his thrusting against my
hip. Neither of us would last very long at this rate, so I took hold
of his pumping hand to stop his ministration of me and slid down the
bed to take him in my mouth. Adi's wet tool jumped as it found the
caress of my lips. I tasted his juices as he pushed in to me, the tang
of salt and his maleness pleasant to my tongue. I gripped his buttocks
and pulled him further in to my oral cavity, his penis quickly
engorging to that final swelling to indicate his imminent orgasm. As
his head touched the deepest recess of my throat I felt the pumping
begin as his semen spurted strongly into me. The joy of his orgasm
transferred itself to me and I pushed myself towards him, making
contact with his feet. Adi felt my hardness and gripped me between his
tough soles, bringing me to a overwhelming orgasm. I pushed and he
clasped me tightly as my semen spilt over his feet, giving me the
lubrication I needed to continue enjoying the leathery feeling of his
tough skin while I pumped in time with his still pulsing penis.
It is true that many Moslem men are cut. In Indonesia, this practice
is referred to as sunat Arab, or the Arabian circumcision, and it
appears to be
carried out mainly in Java. I have only ever met one
other Muslim from other parts of Indonesia who was cut. Every other
Muslim I have met, which represents a small portion of the millions of
them, is not cut.
In Adi's village, as with many thousands of others, at the coming of
age ceremony the physical cutting is replaced by a symbolic enactment,
but nothing actually gets cut off the foreskin. The initiates, Adi's
cousins from what I could make of a rather convoluted relationship web,
were about 13 years of age. These beautiful healthy boys had been
scrubbed clean in the river and the grandmothers and older relatives
had been hard at work all morning preparing them for the ceremony.
Their black hair gleamed with a deep iridescence that continual
brushing and washing had endowed. Their faces had been made up with
rice powder to blush their normally dark skin and a
stylish moustache
had been pencilled on each boy as, it seemed, some kind of maturity
mark that they had yet to achieve.
Their bodies were adorned with gaily coloured gold-threaded cloth that
was wrapped around them, making them look like toy dolls. The cloth
covered them down to the knees. Their feet, as would be expected, were
bare and I immediately noticed they were broad and tough like Adi's.
We arrived at the house about an hour before the ceremony was due to
begin, and we were immediately given strong coffee and offered
cigarettes. After a while the ladies had completed their ministrations
with the boys and left to attend to their own ritual dressing. Both
the boys came over and sat with us, careful not to disturb any of the
make-up, adornments or clothing that had been so lovingly applied to
them. They lit the cigarettes Adi offered them and sat back to
relax,
drawing the smoke deeply into their lungs.
Around midday there was a general movement in the village as people
began assembling at the Mesjid (Mosque). We escorted the two boys from
our family and I was surprised to see that they were not the only ones
to be initiated this day. Several families brought other lads to the
centre of the gathering and, by time the ritual commenced, there were
fifteen boys
present, all brightly bedecked and all nervously awaiting
their part in the proceedings.
I cannot speak Arabic, and Islamic rituals are conducted in that
language, so I stood quietly in the crowd and observed the goings on
with interest. I had heard of some other places where a small nick is
made to draw blood, and wondered if this would be the case here. Adi,
I knew, had no scarring on his penis but I did not know if he had been
initiated in this village or elsewhere. The various prayers and
readings from the Koran were intoned and the ceremony progressed, but,
to my immense pleasure, the foreskins remained intact.
Later, when everything was done and we had gone home, the boys needed
to wash the cosmetics off their bodies. They asked me and Adi to come
with them to the river where we could all refresh ourselves from the
intense afternoon heat and humidity. Thunder storms in the distance
promised rain and coolness, but at this stage they were still distant
and the weather was oppressive. I needed little encouragement to go
for a swim.
At the river, not the main course of the Mahkam but a smaller
tributary, other boys from the ceremony were already in the water,
their naked bodies darting through the muddy water. Adi's cousins
stripped off the shorts they had worn from home (the fine cloths had
been taken off by the old ladies and stored for the next family members
to be initiated) and turned to me, urging me to do the same. I pulled
my clothes off and hung them over a tree branch. The boys took my
hands and led me down the slippery bank, showing me where to hold and
where to place my feet so I did not tumble unexpectedly into the water.
I could not help but notice their little penises with their complete
covering sheath. Indonesia, by the way, is not alone in this
adaptation of the circumcision ruling that is preached as Islamic Law
but, in fact, is nothing more than an established tradition among
Moslems. Current research at leading universities in Java may lead to
a change in understanding the traditional approach to bodily mutilation
and, hopefully, many more Indonesian foreskins will remain intact.
In the morning we drove out of the village after bidding everyone a
fond farewell. Many of the villagers had bought gifts for me, to my
extreme embarrassment as I had nothing to offer in return, as a kind of
symbol of honour. Adi's little taxi was full of potatos and carrots,
cabbages and eggs, sweet dripping sugar cane stalks and every other
kind of produce you could
imagine. We must have looked like a
travelling vendor as we found our way through the jungle, over the
broad span of the suspension bridge and off towards Samarinda. We did
not turn left to the city we had come from, but continued on towards
Balikpapan.
Kyron Cameron MacMannis
Yahoo Group Aboriginal and Indonesian
The stories and photos of James MacMannis
http://asia.groups.yahoo.com/group/aborigindonesian